


Heartstring, Fourteen Inches

by museicalitea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Dragon Reservation, Dragons, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There probably exists a proverb that says something to the effect of “do not mess with dragons”. Perhaps more eloquently worded, perhaps not even in Japanese; heck, it could be the motto of some foreign wizarding school for all Konoha knows.</p><p>But if it exists—well, judging from every single one of his recent life decisions to date, he probably hasn’t heard of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sootegremlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootegremlin/gifts).



> Happy Holiday Exchange, sootegremlin!! Your very open prompt worked out very well for me, and I had a great deal of fun writing this fic. I do hope you enjoy it!
> 
> ETA: Now that authors have been revealed, I want to thank [pomme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme) for beta reading, getting about as excited as I am about this fic, and just generally cheering me on through the sticky patch of Uncooperative Chapter 2.
> 
> This fic is six-and-an-epilogue chapters long, and I will attempt to update it twice weekly until it's finished (the uncertainty is merely due to my going on holiday with dubious amounts of internet access in just over a week). **Chapter-specific warnings include: nausea, mention of alcohol consumption.** And a disclaimer: some of the following practices described are exceedingly dangerous, and should not be attempted by anyone bar trained professional dragonologists, and even then it is inadvisable. Please, don't try this at home.

Most wizards avoided dragons for very good reasons. They were about as dangerous as magical beasts came: large, unpredictable, able to fly, fire-breathing, bad-tempered—a litany of reasons and fears that went on _ad infinitum._ No one in their right mind would seek them out, far less approach them.

Which, naturally, was why Konoha reasoned, for probably the hundredth time in a fit of skewed clarity, that he must be mad. And then his thoughts cut off as, wind whipping sharp and cold past his cheeks, his stomach swooped as the dragon beneath him plunged into a dive.

Clutching onto the leather of the dragon’s collar, Konoha redoubled his legs’ grip on its sides. The scales were rough and hard beneath the fabric of his trousers and its sides rippled as its muscles worked, shortening and lengthening evenly yet just offbeat under him. As the dragon dived faster and faster in freefall, Konoha pressed himself as close to its body as he could, turning his face away from the air currents pressing hard as steel from below.

A roar rumbled through the air, and with a snap of its vast wings Konoha’s dragon broke the dive to glide flat around and roar back at the intruder. From its back several hundred metres away, a tiny figure with dark clothes and whitish hair raised a hand. Konoha grinned. And then, clutching onto the collar with his left hand so tightly it hurt, he drew his wand out of his vambrace and shot a ball of pulsating gold and black light out in front of the dragon.

With a growl, it launched itself forwards, wings beating fast and powerful as it raced to catch the ball up. Konoha kept his wand as outstretched as he dared, flicking it to change the ball’s course, and clung on as tightly as he could with his remaining hand and legs as the dragon turned and climbed in its chase.

A snarl from behind and a heavier set of wingbeats made Konoha turn his head. The other dragon was drawing level and atop its back Bokuto had let go of its collar and had his chest high and arms outspread.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Konoha called, his voice near lost in the whistling wind. Bokuto’s beaming smile broadened.

“You say that every time, Konoha!”

“Then don’t blame me when you fall off and one of ‘em eats you!” Glancing to his other side, Konoha squinted as the sun cut sharp across his vision. It was far lower in the sky than it had been when he last checked, and he turned a knob on the underside of his Omnioculaic goggles, bringing up a clock just above his right eye. “Oi, Bokutan!” he yelled. “Ready to bail?”

“Eh? But I wanna keep going!”

“Yeah, but we gotta get back to base soon, Bokuto-oooo-ooah—!”

The dragon took a sharp right and spiralled through the air, almost unseating Konoha. Gritting his teeth, he hung on until the dragon was flying kind of the right way up again. And then, digging his legs in as tightly as he could, he let go of the dragon’s collar and reached over his shoulder to pull out the collapsible broomstick attached to his back. He flicked the magicked ball as far forward as he could muster, and then circled his wand over the broomstick, letting it stretch out and solidify.

Heart jumping in his throat, Konoha waited until the dragon spiralled upside down again. And then he dropped.

The fall knocked the breath out of him in one hit. All his senses were overwhelmed by the air rushing past his ears and pummelling his back as he hurtled down, down, down—

The hand clutching the broomstick jerked forwards and the broom aligned itself with his body. The supports snapped themselves to his feet, and clinging on with all his might, Konoha shut his eyes and pressed forwards as hard as he could.

And the broom swung around and he was flying, down and away.

As he pushed into descent from the clouds, he heard an enthusiastic cry behind him and a responding roar. Konoha tensed, but didn’t hear approaching wingbeats or anything that indicated a chasing dragon, and so kept on his path until he broke the cloud cover. Below him stretched an expanse of mountains, iron-grey and imposing under the storm-yellow sky. Far away enough from the dragons, he stashed his wand back into the stiff leather fastenings of his vambrace, and readjusting his seat, uncomfortably narrow and empty between his legs after an hour on a dragon’s broad neck, he guided his broom over the mountains. He kept his pace brisk and his path direct, stomach too unsettled after the dragon’s acrobatics and that horrible drop to risk fancier flying. At last, he espied the forested cliff near the very edge of the dragon’s territory, and put in one last burst of speed to draw up hovering over the rugged ground.

“Hey hey!”

Konoha had barely dismounted his broom when an arm flung itself around his neck and a body crashed into his, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Holy _crap—_ ”

“That was so _cool!_ You dropped like _whoom,_ and your broom came up like _whaah_ and it just turned you over like _that—_ how’d you do that?”

“Secrets of… the… trade, I can’t breathe, Bokuto.”

“Oh. Heh. Sorry,” Bokuto said sheepishly, loosening his arm but keeping it firmly draped over Konoha’s shoulders as he started to steer them down towards the edge of the wards and the Apparition point. “Your broom’s never done that before, though!”

Konoha smirked up at him and hefted his broom up to start collapsing it down again. “Where do you think I’ve been holed up these past two weeks? Modifications take time, Bokutan.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened, and he faltered in his step, making Konoha stumble. “You mean… wait, you did all of that in two weeks?”

Konoha shrugged. “I’m not done yet, but someone from the Crisis Squad found where I was working and now I need a new testing space.”

“Can you do mine too?”

“Patience,” Konoha said, pulling out from Bokuto’s hold at last and hoisting his folded broom back into its holster on his back. “I still gotta finish working out the kinks in this one. Anyway, don’t you have like two racing brooms?”

“Well… three, you know that! C’mon…”

“Anyway, data collection is more important than deluxe features on our broomsticks. You did have your monitor set?”

There was a yelp from behind him, and Konoha laughed bodily as he picked up his pace and passed through the wards. It so happened that Konoha had set Bokuto’s monitor when they were checking their equipment before finding their dragons—after all, _not_ getting their data wasn’t really worth the risk of being fried to a crisp and then eaten—but it was reassuring to know that despite his flickers of genius, he was still decently distractible most of the time.

Bokuto hadn’t caught up by the time Konoha reached the copse of trees that was the closest Apparition point on this part of the island. It was secluded and dim, so sheltered that it was one of the few places on the entire reserve where there was rarely even a faint breeze to stir the leaves. In the shade, Konoha slowed his steps, stomach heavy with apprehension. The flying had stirred up nausea, and though it had mostly abated…

But there was nothing for it, really. He had to Apparate to get back to their base island. There was no other way.

Konoha turned on the spot, breathing in and out of his nose very heavily and focusing on the living quarters’ Apparition point. With a sucking _whoosh,_ he hurtled into the black and seconds later stumbled out into the western courtyard, heaving for breath. Doubled over against his churning stomach, he pressed a hand over his mouth and willed the bile rising in his throat to stay down. _Shit._ He’d _thought_ he was over actually being sick. He vaguely heard the _pop_ of Bokuto arriving through the rushing in his ears, and then there were hurried footsteps and a hand rubbing rhythmically up and down his back, and slowly his breathing settled.

“—kay? Konoha, you alright?”

Konoha nodded slowly, focusing his gaze on the rough cobbled pattern of the stonework until his throat loosened and the nauseating tingling in his lower face ebbed away.

“’m alright, Bokuto,” he said, pushing himself upright off his knees. “Not gonna be sick.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth tilted. He looked worried, and still hadn’t taken his hand off Konoha’s back. “You’re really pale, Konoha. Like, grey pale.”

Konoha smiled half-heartedly at him. “It’s getting dark, Bokuto, how could you poss—” He stopped. Bokuto still looked concerned, and it _really_ wasn’t a big deal—but then again, concerned Bokuto could so easily sink into dejected Bokuto, and that was infinitely more troublesome to deal with.

“I’ll take a nap when I get back, then,” he said. “Seriously, Bokuto. I’m okay.”

Bokuto’s mouth twisted, and Konoha could swear his hair drooped. “But I thought you’d stopped getting sick after Apparating ages ago.”

“Most of the time.”

_“Most of the time?”_

“You don’t need to fuss about it, Bokutan,” Konoha said, shrugging off Bokuto’s hand at last. He took a couple of steps forward, and although his legs felt faintly hollow, his stomach didn’t protest; so he continued walking towards the gates leading into the living quarters of the reserve. Behind him, Bokuto let out a very whiny groan, but caught him up within a few steps. Together, they stepped through the barrier of enchantments, and the gates swung open before them.

“Living quarters” was an understatement for the name of this part of the reserve. Situated on a tiny island well off the coast of northern Hokkaido and south of the much larger islands where the dragons lived, it was living areas, infirmary, administration, research headquarters, training grounds, mess hall and, as it happened, the location of some historic wizarding castle (and apparently a battle, but Konoha had never bothered to find out the details). It was sprawling and noisy and always smelled very strongly of dragons and strange potions, and for Konoha, it was home.

With the afternoon darkening rapidly into evening, the outside areas were lighting up in sprinklings of lanterns that cast eerie shadows over the pathways and vegetation around, and were abuzz with dragonologists coming in from their stations (or else preparing to set out for night observation) and a flurry of people who worked within the research departments heading down to the mess hall. Konoha and Bokuto were en route to the broom shed, Konoha still—despite his words to Bokuto—fighting back bursts of nausea. There were very few people around this side of the island, most of them from departments Konoha had little to do with. They were not five minutes from their destination, however, when they ran into the very last people Konoha wanted to see.

He had forgotten—completely forgotten—that their path ran right by the duelling and training grounds, and that on Wednesdays the Crisis Squad could be found there drilling. And just ahead on the path was a small group of people—several of whom Konoha was actually perfectly happy to see—

“Akaashi! Hey, Akaashi!”

Beside him, Bokuto looked ecstatic and was waving brightly to one of the shorter wizards in the group, who looked surprised though not displeased to see them. His greeting had caught the attention of the other wizards, and they turned almost as one. And Konoha had to catch the inside of his lip between his teeth to stop himself grimacing outright—because there, right there in the middle of the group—

"Bokuto," Konoha hissed under his breath, "keep walking." There was a longer but lesser-used path nearby, and Konoha grabbed Bokuto’s' wrist and started walking towards it.

"Eh? Wh—"

"It's the Crisis Squad, and—urgh, just _keep walking—_ "

"Bokuto Koutarou."

One of the wizards had broken away from the group and was striding towards them, face like thunder and cloak billowing out behind him.

"I've been wanting to speak to you. I've had further reports that you and Konoha are continuing to ride the Ironbellies, and I would like to remind you—"

_Here he goes again._

Beside Konoha, Bokuto's shoulders stiffened. He stepped forwards, jaw set and clenching his broomstick so tightly that even in the dim light Konoha could tell his knuckles were white. "Dude, we've told you before, it's for _research_ —"

"And research can easily be conducted on the ground, or within the safety measures instated by the organisation—"

Recently-appointed head of the group of wizards and witches that dealt with the accidents and security breaches that were a given on a dragon reservation, he was a man who had had it out for Konoha and Bokuto both almost since the day he arrived. And really, he could be spouting gibberish for all Konoha cared, because he'd heard the argument so often in the last six weeks that it all ran in one ear and out the other and left plenty of room in his head for revenge constructs. And right now, the man's attention wasn't on him.

Several metres away, he was still walking towards them, and in one quick move Konoha flicked his wand towards the ground. Like a wave breaking, the ground rippled and sent the wizard's feet out from under him, and he landed hard on his backside. Muffled laughter echoed down the path, and smirking down at him, Konoha tugged at Bokuto's wrist and started walking again.

"We've got places to be, if you don’t mind. Good day, Washio-san."

* * *

Konoha awoke to a dark room and a cold bed. His eyes heavy and itchy with sleep, he couldn’t be bothered to move until several long minutes had elapsed and he heard another door slide open and footsteps in the main room. Groaning in the back of his throat, he pushed himself semi-upright and fumbled along the floor beside the futon until he felt the smooth wood of his wand beneath his fingertips. Muttering the incantation to light the tip and squinting in the sudden brightness, Konoha cast his eyes over the room. The closet doors were closed, and the floor was scattered with equipment. Equipment that was, at this time on most days, packed up by now.

After relieving himself and dressing, he went out into the main room of the little apartment. As he’d suspected she might be, Kaori was slumped over on the table, and she moaned when Konoha reached down to ruffle her hair.

“Rough night?”

“Headache,” she said miserably. _“And_ I’ve got early rounds for the yearlings, I want to _die.”_

“Coffee?”

Kaori made a noise that sounded a bit like a mopey “Yes”, so Konoha pulled two mugs out of the cupboard before tapping the kettle once with his wand to fill it with water and a second time to set it heating. Kaori had in that short space of time buried her head in her arms, so Konoha declined from talking, instead pulling out the map of the Vipertooth’s designated territory from his pocket and giving it a shake to set the ink dragon flying in the patterns he’d observed the week before. He Levitated the parchment to keep an eye on it while he measured out instant coffee into the plunger and poured water over it, and gave it another tap so that when the ink-dragon replayed its flight, the repeated patterns were marked out in different colours.

However, after two minutes of staring at the map and not taking in anything beyond an abundance of blue and green lines and Bokuto’s commentary in appalling handwriting seeping in from his own copy, Konoha undid the levitating charm and refolded it. He massaged his head, trying to clear the sleep-fuzz from it—because sure, he was a morning person, but he was also a late-night person and there were many subsequent mornings when he would rather sleep till noon, thank you very much—and checked the coffee. Done enough.

“You good?” he said, placing the half-full coffeepot and one mug in front of Kaori and dropping into a chair with the other. Kaori raised her head, and at last Konoha noticed both how pale her face was and her extraordinarily bloodshot eyes. He hesitated, inclined his head once and then averted his eyes to his coffee.

“Right.”

“Hhhh.”

“Dare I ask, uh… how…?”

“Big crowd and we were all shouting each other, and Shirofuku-san brought in some new kind of Firewhiskey,” Kaori said, wrapping both her hands around her cup and inhaling. “Terrible.”

Konoha frowned. “Bad alcohol?”

“No.” Kaori sniffed. “Good alcohol. Terrible thing to do ‘cause I drank most of it.”

He couldn’t quite hold back a snort of laughter, and Kaori glared at him from over her coffee before downing half of it in one go. “Not. Funny.”

“Didn’t anyone else go at it?”

“They all passed out after a glass each. It wasn’t very fun.”

“Why didn’t you just leave it?”

“I have drinking pride to uphold, Aki. Shirofuku-san can still out-drink me, and that needs to change.”

Konoha patted her on the arm. “I’m sure it will. You eaten since last night?”

Three cups of black coffee and half a loaf’s worth of toast later, Kaori had regained some of her colour and she was leaning back in her chair, not slumping forwards, which Konoha counted as Girlfriend Hangover Management Success™. The sky outside their kitchen window had lightened while they sat, soft blue bleeding into purple and glowing into gold hues as the sun rose. Konoha hadn’t bothered to get his map out again, but he did reach into the other pocket and pull out his watch.

“Kaori?”

“Mm?”

“We need to head off.”

“Ew.”

“You ready to go?”

Kaori pulled a face and pushed herself up from the table. “Gotta change my shirt and get my stuff, gimme five minutes.”

“’Kay,” Konoha said, sending the mugs and coffeepot over to the sink with a half-hearted flick of his wand. He was about to leave the kitchenette when an insistent rapping sounded out from behind him. Sighing, Konoha turned around and trudged over to the window above the sink, where an owl—given that racket, it was possibly one of Bokuto’s—was rapping the glass with its beak. He flicked the latches up and shoved the window. And then shoved it again when it didn’t budge the first time, knocking the owl off the ledge.

“Fuck,” he muttered, blocking his ears as an indignant and very shrieky screech echoed into the room. Definitely one of Bokuto’s owls, then. A couple of seconds later it flapped back into sight, murder in its eyes, one envelope tied to its leg and another clamped none too gently in its beak. With another sigh, Konoha stuck a hand through the window and clicked his fingers together. A finely-placed Severing Charm split the string attaching the first letter, and he got a sharp nip on the fingers dislodging the second. He didn’t bother shutting the window as the owl flew off. It was hardly large enough for a hand to fit through, let alone a person—and besides, wands could take care of closed windows, easy.

His finger was bleeding a bit, and Konoha tapped the first note to get it levitating while he started poking at his finger with his wand. It almost wasn’t worth the extra effort, though—the first line of the note was so sloppily written that he could barely tell it was indeed composed of kanji and hiragana and not just a quill dragging itself lazily across the page.

_can we checkonthe Vpth in .the afternooooooon I have a rly badha ngover PLEASEPLEASE ..PLEASE –B_

Konoha flipped off the note, and twirled his wand in readiness to incinerate it. And then he noticed a blot seeped through the other side of the parchment. Frowning, he plucked it out of the air and flipped it over.

**_He really does have a hangover, Konoha. I’m doing my best to revive him. Sorry.  
Sarukui._ **

Sarukui? Minding Bokuto after a hangover? It wasn’t that unusual, but today… was _today._ Konoha glanced to the window reflexively, where the sky was still gold with the rising sun. It was early morning, very early morning, and he _shouldn’t_ be worrying about Sarukui right now.

He pocketed his wand and leaned back against the sink, note clenched in his hand. After some seconds standing there, it occurred to him to look at the second letter. This one was in an envelope, sealed, he noted, with the insignia of the reserve—and stamped on that, the insignia of the Crisis Squad.

He made a gagging noise, shoved the letter into his pocket, spat in the sink and left the kitchen as fast as he could.

* * *

Down in the administration area, the hallways were dim and very quiet, even for this hour. Konoha normally greeted half a dozen people when he was there in the small hours of the morning, yet today he’d yet to see a soul bar one dazed-looking junior sub-vice paper shredder or something. He wondered, as Kaori pushed open the door to her sector’s office, just how many people Shirofuku’s firewhisky had knocked out last night.

“Fuck!”

“Kaori?”

She was clutching a slip of parchment, and from the fire in her eyes he was surprised it hadn’t burnt away. “He bailed on me, that fucking—”

_And another one._

“Wait an hour?” Konoha said, stepping over several stacks of books piled on the floor to reach the shelf behind the desk. He started sifting through the boxes until he found the one labelled _Envelopes_. “Go out on your own?”

“Can’t,” Kaori muttered, taking out her wand and incinerating the note. “Yearlings are too volatile, you’d be mad to go out there by yourself.”

“Well, I’m free,” Konoha said, fishing through the box. “Want me to go with?”

“You’d be okay? Yearlings are a bunch of dirtbags.”

Konoha looked up to see Kaori standing with crossed arms and a grimace on her face, and he shrugged. “I’m dealing with a pissy teenage Vipertooth right now, it doesn’t get much worse than that.” Pulling the envelope he’d been searching for out of the box, he added, “’Sides, I worked with the Ironbelly yearlings for two years, I know they’re shit.”

As he rifled about on the bomb site that was Kaori’s partner’s desk for a quill and ink, Kaori walked closer to the desk and hoisted herself up to sit on it. “Don’t you have things you have to do? And what’s the Howler about?”

Setting his quill to parchment, Kohoha shrugged again. “Bokuto bailed on me too. Why should I let him enjoy his morning off?” For a couple of lines he scribbled, his writing made wobbly by Kaori kicking her heels arrhythmically against the desk. Halfway through the second paragraph, he paused, as it occurred to him that he currently had no way to actually get this Howler up to Bokuto. “You got an owl about you?”

“Not your house-elf,” Kaori said, flicking him on the forehead. Konoha looked up at her, frowning.

“That hurt.”

“It did not,” she said dismissively, craning her neck and scanning the Howler. She had laid her hand on the desk for balance, and glancing at her nails Konoha saw that they were covered in a knobbly polish that close up looked like tiny iron spikes. He pouted. No wonder it had hurt. “What _is_ this? Looks like someone scribing a two-year-old having a tantrum.”

Konoha chuckled. “This, Kaori, comes out as a screech. I’ve been woken up by it before and it’s terrible.”

For a second she was silent. And then a pleased smile grew on her face, and Kaori laughed out loud. “You’re brilliant.”

Konoha smirked, but refrained from mentioning that it was Bokuto who’d discovered that particular piece of brilliance by way of trying to properly transcribe dragon noises with the help of an enchanted quill. Instead, he flicked his wand at both quill and Howler so they stood poised to write. “Okay then, help me. What is the most annoying noise you know apart— _apart from snoring which I don’t do!—_ egh. Apart from snoring and Bokuto’s horrible screech owl. And Washio tearing me a new one.”

“Ooh…” Kaori leaned her chin on her hand for a moment, lips pursed in contemplation. “Don’t suppose other people’s sex noises…?” Konoha shook his head, and Kaori was silent another few seconds before her eyes lit up.

“Wolf whistle.”

She had barely finished speaking before Konoha reached for her shoulders and kissed her full on the mouth.

In the end, it took nearly half an hour before they were able to find a civil enough owl to deliver the missive, and by then people were finally starting to trickle into the workspaces. Unwilling to risk running into any of the Crisis Squad at this hour, Konoha led Kaori on one of Bokuto and Komi’s favoured underground shortcuts that came out just feet away from her usual Apparition point. She looked impressed by it—and then less so when Konoha requested she take him out to the dragon islands by Side-Along Apparition.

“It’s only because I had a spell yesterday, Kaori!”

“Aren’t you going to _do_ something about it?” she snapped, arms tightly folded and ponytail whipping about in the brisk wind. “You need to see a Healer about this, Aki, it isn’t _safe!”_

Konoha barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes at her, but he’d heard the same from countless others countless times before. When he spoke, though, he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “Kaori, this is the first time in a year and a half it’s affected me. It’s safe _enough_ now, I—” He stopped, exhaled through his nose, and drew himself to his full height. Kaori’s eyes narrowed and her face steeled. “Do you want me to order you as your superior?”

She took a step towards him, eyes sparking. “That’s low, _Konoha._ Don’t pull that card on me.”

“Then _please._ Please. I’ll take myself back, but just so I know it really will be alright.”

Kaori hadn’t softened her glare. “You’re going to the Healers when we get back. That or the potioneers for stomach medicine, take your pick.”

“Healers,” Konoha said immediately. It was one of the few things not a soul in the entirety of the reserve would disagree on (except, perhaps, someone from the potions department). The Healers were kind of ruthless, but the potioneers were all experts in poisons and how to create fake dragon dung and liked testing their experiments on unsuspecting victims, and they were given as wide a berth as possible without raising suspicion.

Kaori still looked steely, but inwardly Konoha relaxed. He had proved to her many a time that his word was to be trusted, and she knew it. And after half a minute under her scrutiny, she held out her arm, crooked at the elbow. Konoha stepped forwards and took it, and then Kaori twisted and they were whisked away, into the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I not longer need to be a °˖✧Mysterious Anonymous Creator✧˖°, I'm on [Twitter](twitter.com/museicalitea) and [Tumblr](museicaliteacup.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi!


	2. Chapter 2

Konoha hadn’t been to the south of the southern dragon island for over a year, and it wasn’t somewhere he cared to revisit at all. There was a lot of burnt vegetation inland and a constant cacophony of roars and screeches audible even from the Apparition point, and it brought back horrific memories of five years prior when he’d first been assigned yearlings on this part of the reserve.

The sea breeze was sharp, but it was far less cold than up in the mountains, and even the short hike through the bush was enough for Konoha to wish he'd worn something lighter than his usual lined dragonskin jacket. Kaori had on only a T-shirt and sleeveless dragonskin vest, and Konoha eyed her bare arms with envy. How hot-blooded people managed without sleeves was beyond him—but then again, Bokuto never wore sleeves and he consistently got five times as many burns as Konoha, so maybe there was something to be said for susceptibility to the cold.

The track was clearly defined for most of the way, but when they got close enough that Konoha nearly had to stifle his ears at the roaring, Kaori turned left and off the path. The vegetation between the trees wasn’t high, but the ground was uneven and slippery underfoot with leaves and what he recognised with faint disgust as dragon diarrhoea. Eyeing the heavy foliage border two hundred metres ahead, he reached into his back trouser pocket and pulled out a hairtie.

“We there yet?” he called, scraping his hair back. Kaori didn’t turn back, but she nodded and removed her wand from the holster strapped to her thigh—steely-blue and one of his, Konoha noted with a smile.

Kaori raised her wand, and the air rippled iridescent in front of the foliage. Slashing the wand down, the leaves and branches parted and together she and Konoha walked through it. For a moment, Konoha blinked rapidly before his goggles adjusted to the glaring sun out of the bush.

And then before him: chaos.

He barely had time to register the _swish_ through the air before a massive tail came crashing through the air towards him. Konoha dived to the side instinctively, casting up a Shield Charm even as he slammed against the rocky ground. The debris sent up by the tail bounced off the forcefield, and he scrambled to his feet, hissing through his teeth as his whole right side twinged.

“Shit, you alright?” Kaori yelled, fifty metres away all of a sudden. It took Konoha several breaths before he could respond, staring from behind his Shield Charm at a great black dragon, easily thirty feet high and with head and tail spikes far too large for its body. His heart dropped to his stomach, because there was _no way…_ this couldn’t be a _yearling,_ surely…

“The _hell_ is… is this a Horntail?” he said, edging slowly around the rock that made up this side of the protective barrier.

“Gyahh—yeah, unfortunately!”

Stretching out over what he knew was the width of the island were dozens of dragons in their nightmarish adolescent years. Immature, far more unpredictable than their parents and adult counterparts, and seemingly in a constant state of indecision about whether they wanted to play with you or eat you, the task of overseeing the survival of the yearlings was left to those dragonologists experienced enough to work without constant supervision, but not so senior that they could escape whatever mucky tasks no one else wanted to do. Kaori had been stuck on yearlings for nearly a year and a half, and was already putting together a backup plan in case she didn’t get promoted to better dragons within the next six months.

_“You know my mate Nanasawa—”_

_“Who?”_

_“Uh… the one who has that book on dead Muggle painters. Anyway, he transferred to the potions department last year because there was a mess-up with his paperwork and he was going to be on yearlings an extra year while they got it sorted and I am prepared to do that if they make me stay even one month longer than is on my schedule.”_

_“You aren’t that great at potions, you know.”_

_“Aki, all you need to be able to do is produce something convincing once in a blue moon because no one checks down there ever.”_

_“We get blue moons all the time on this island.”_

_“Or you can put things into jars and label them. It’s not that difficult.”_

It took a while, but Konoha eventually made it out of the Horntail’s enchantment-designated territory, and luckily without getting targeted by the dragon again. If there was one blessing when it came to dealing with yearlings—and there really was only the one—it was that their eyes developed very late and they could hardly see until they were almost two years old. Yes, they did have sensitive noses and ears, but Konoha knew from experience that they weren’t adept at tracking at all. It would be funny, if they weren’t the third-most dangerous beasts on the dragon islands.

Directly in between the Horntail’s territory and its sibling’s next to it was a ring of trees, heavily shielded by enchantments to be probably the most dragon-proof place on the entire reservation. Kaori was already sitting cross-legged in there, consulting a sheet of parchment.

“Hey,” she said distractedly, scratching something on it with a pencil. Konoha plopped down in front of her, and started fiddling with his wand, waiting for her to talk. “Okay, so we’ve gotta just check the dragons in this sector aren’t sick, don’t have any weird injuries—they never do but I have to—”

“Have to check anyway, yeah, yeah. I know.”

“—then let more goats into the hybrid’s territory—goats?” Kaori made a face at the parchment. “Why. It—indigestion—ugh. Okay, uh… make sure there’s raw meat for the diurnal dragons and check that the fat Longhorn hasn’t burnt its entire territory down again.”

“Question,” Konoha said. “Does your schedule involve us coming out at another Apparition point?”

“Answer: no.”

“I don’t like your schedule.”

Kaori fixed him with a Look—“Tough.”—and Konoha resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

“Its skin is shedding.”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t it a bit late in the year…?”

“Eh. This one works on a different calendar to the others.”

“…”

“Count your blessings, Aki, it isn’t trying to eat you.”

…

“What is that.”

“You remember when the Ridgeback snuck into the Opaleye’s territory a couple of years ago and she chased him out?”

“Kind of? I think I was overseas.”

“Right. Well, it turns out they got busy.”

“Oh.”

“I think it’s really supposed to eat fish, but they make me feed it mammals because it’s easier on management and then it gets bowel problems. I have to clean it up every fortnight and it isn’t fun.”

…

“…It burned down all the trees again.”

“How’re you going to explain that to management?”

“Uh… start planting those saplings and help me think of an excuse.”

* * *

 

By the time they got back to the last Horntail’s territory, Konoha had two new burns (though Kaori had five), his boots were covered in dragon dung, and his ears were ringing with the unceasing shrieky roars that the yearlings delighted in producing. He had, after three and a half years, almost been able to put the nightmare that was yearling duty out of his mind completely, and it had been an unpleasant experience reliving that period. If it were possible, the dragons were worse than he’d experienced, and he sort of understood now why Nanasawa had been desperate enough to bail out to potions.

Having Vanished the dung from his boots for the fourteenth time that morning, Konoha slumped against a tree in the little enchanted copse and retied his hair up. A few feet away, Kaori had dug a small pot of orange paste out of her pocket and was dabbing it on the worst of her burns. Instinctively, Konoha patted his pockets down, but didn’t feel anything. He sighed. It wasn’t that his burns were unbearable—this was really nothing to some of what he’d sustained—but they were still uncomfortable, especially as there was one last dragon to deal with before going back to the living quarters. And it didn’t really help matters that he broke out into a rash every time he used the standard burn cream, and so couldn’t swipe some of Kaori’s.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk, willing the day to be over already. Being senior did mean that some of his days were kind of bland and repetitive, but at least he didn’t age five years in two hours on a daily basis. He really ought to put in a petition for yearling-handlers to get a raise.

“Oi.” Something nudged him in the shin, and Konoha opened one eye to see Kaori had shuffled over to sit right beside him. She nuzzled her head against his thigh, and raking his fingers through her hair, Konoha lowered himself down. He ruffled Kaori’s hair, and with a grin she slung an arm around his neck and leaned in to peck him on the cheek.

“Thanks for coming out today,” she murmured. “Really appreciate it.”

Konoha pressed his head against hers, and slowly his mouth relaxed into a smile. It was actually very quiet in here, the copse so heavily reinforced with protective enchantments that the outside sound was drowned out. In the last few months, both he and Kaori had been so busy that they’d rarely gotten to see each other outside of their flat, and this sudden seclusion, huddled together with cold, tired limbs—a brief, silent eye in the usual storm that was their lives in this vast, chaotic place—was strangely settling.

Then his stomach growled loudly, and he winced as it churned, the moment broken. Kaori laughed.

“Once we’re back I vote we skip paperwork and raid the kitchens.”

“Mmmm. What’s for lunch today?”

“Dunno,” Kaori said, “but I’ve got contacts in there. Can probably get one of my friends to make us whatever we like.” She paused, tipping her head from side to side in contemplation. “I’m kind of in the mood for biscuits, actually.”

“Mmmm. Think I want something hot.”

“Just one to go,” Kaori said breezily, shifting over to dig around for her parchment again. Konoha stared out to where he knew the dragon would be and grimaced.

“Who was the idiot that decided to put the most dangerous dragon right where we’re supposed to get in or out.”

Kaori shrugged. “This was an unexpected hatchling and this was the only space available.”

“We need to breed fewer dragons. So, this one get live animals too?”

“No. No, no, no,” Kaori said, glancing over her parchment. “It’s only a baby, and it can barely walk in a straight line, let alone hunt. It got fed yesterday, so we don’t need to worry about that.”

Kaori kept talking, but Konoha tuned her out as he pulled his goggles over his eyes and zoomed in to get a better look at the Horntail. There was a scary glint in its near eye, and its stubby wings were unfolding and refolding with increasing rapidity. Agitated. Moody. It was only eleven months old, true, but Konoha didn’t really think a dragon that big and angry could be called a baby.

Barely ten minutes later, when it was chasing the both of them and gusting out flame with murder in its gait, Konoha knew for certain: this dragon was most certainly not a baby anymore.

“Duck!”

Without hesitation, Konoha dropped to the ground. The dragon roared, and its scorching flames brushed above him. Its footsteps were loud, grating on the rock, and Konoha rolled in the opposite direction before pushing himself to his feet. He broke into a run, vaulting over the chunks of rock littering the Horntail’s enclosure. Another roar sounded, far too close to him, and he shot a spell over his shoulder.

As a _whoosh_ rang through the air and the dragon turned its great body towards the unexpected sound, Konoha’s adrenaline shot up and he ran even faster. Breath coming in short gasps and wind slapping past his face, he was nearly at the exit when he heard it.

Something crashing into rock. Hard.

There was only one thing Horntails did that with with such exuberance, and there could only be one reason. And it hit Konoha like a ton of bricks as a yell came from across the clearing. He skidded on the rock as he halted in his tracks and wheeled around, and his insides froze.

Thrashing its tail into the rock, the Horntail was advancing on Kaori with clumsy feet. She was holding it back, Impeding it with jet after jet of turquoise light. But while her spells were concentrated, they only stopped the dragon in its tracks for brief moments at a time, and though its body would be frozen, its head and tail could still freely move; and having to face the dragon head-on for maximum impact, Kaori could only move backwards slowly. Her movements were becoming shorter, the jabs of her wand harder. She was losing patience.

And when she lost patience, she could get reckless.

Pounding towards the dragon, Konoha raised his wand and sent out an Impediment Charm just as Kaori’s arm moved to send out hers. The spells hit the dragon together, and it stopped dead in its tracks.

“Come on!” Konoha yelled. Kaori had already turned to start running, lengthening her stride across the flat with eyes fixed not on Konoha, but on the rocky incline she had to tackle before she reached the exit. Trusting her speed, Konoha turned his attention back to the dragon.

The Horntail had taken a good five seconds longer than usual to recover from the combined Impediment Charm, and now that he could focus his attention, Konoha began to unleash a barrage of the same spell, only vastly more powerful. The dragon screeched and struggled, but with its muscles paralysed, it could not move and it could not breathe flame, and Konoha was careful to recast the spell every few seconds as he moved as fast as he dared towards the exit.

Kaori was at the incline now, and had begun to climb up. It was steep, and the ground slippery with loose gravel, and she needed both hands to clamber up the rockface steadily. By the time she had reached the top, with only a short stretch of rock to cover before the exit, Konoha was having to move sideways to keep the dragon fully within sight and attack range.

But then, he stepped back, and his foot dropped into empty space. His heart leapt into his throat, and he stumbled and slipped, trying to catch his balance.

And in that split-second, the dragon broke free of its invisible bonds and charged forwards.

It was all a blur to Konoha. One moment, his heart was racing and he was staring in horror at the dragon. And then he was running—and the dragon’s tail was winding forwards and slamming left, right, gouging deep and fast into the rock. And then Kaori was there, almost underneath him—

And Konoha flung his arm forwards and sent out a Shield Charm that ripped through the air and sent the Horntail skidding backwards along the ground.

The rock exit grated open in the corner of his vision, and a hand clamped onto his arm and tugged. Konoha followed Kaori, stumbling as he ran until they were deep in the bush and the rock and foliage had closed over behind them. Staggering to a halt, Konoha half-collapsed against a nearby tree. His knees shook badly, and his stomach was turning somersaults from the adrenaline.

But in between heaving breaths and the roaring of blood in his ears, he heard something else. A hiss through gritted teeth. Pained. And then, Kaori spoke.

“Aki. We… uh… we have a problem.”

* * *

 

The reservation’s Healers had their offices in a semi-circular arrangement on the floor above the general infirmary. Ordinarily, Konoha might have gone straight to the infirmary; however, Kaori had taken one look at the list of Healers on ward duty and started marching straight for the stairs.

“It’s the guy with the quiff,” she said tersely when Konoha caught up to her. “He asks too many questions and it pisses me off.”

Pissing Kaori off was probably the last thing anyone wanted to do at the moment, given that if she became any more irate she would probably start hexing people on sight. That, and there was a spike embedded in her hand, and the sooner they could get it removed the better. She’d barely complained of pain, more of inconvenience; but her face was pale and her mouth tight, and Konoha would rather she didn’t lose any more blood.

Reaching one of the Healers’ doors, Konoha rapped on it. “Ogano!”

Fifteen seconds passed, and there was no answer. He frowned and knocked twice again. “Ogano?”

“Aki…” Kaori said through gritted teeth. There was even more blood running down her arm now, and Konoha swore under his breath. Then, puffing out his cheeks, he banged on the door very, very hard. “Broccoli!”

From the other side of the door, there came both an enraged yell and a crash. And then another crash—and then a door being slammed open—and footsteps stomping closer and closer, all with a loudly muttering undercurrent of “Who does he think he is… Broccoli, I’ll show him _broccoli_ … If that fishlips fucker is here on a prank call again I swear I’ll—oh, hey, Konoha.”

“Hi,” Konoha said, raising an eyebrow at the peephole. “Took you a while.”

“Uh… yeah, I can—”

“Kaori’s bleeding a lot, can we come in?”

“Oh. Uh, right.” There was a protracted, wheezy rattle from the other side of the door and several _thunks_ , and then the door opened to reveal one Ogano Daiki, resplendent in a holey t-shirt and boxers and with very terrible bedhead. “You—ooh, wow, that _is_ bleeding, yeah, get in here.”

“Took you long enough,” Konoha muttered, one arm supporting Kaori as they stepped into the office. He eyed Ogano with eyebrow arched as he closed the door behind him. “You only just out of bed?”

Ogano scowled. “Oi, I’m not on ward duty, I don’t need to be up till people come knocking.” Gesturing to the bed at the side of the room, he said, “Get her on there, put pressure on the wound, I just need to, uh… find my…” He trailed off, his hands fidgeting, and Konoha followed his eyes as they took in the chaotic mess that was his office. “…wand.”

“Ogano?”

“Yeah—Suzumeda, bed, you look like you’re gonna faint.”

“Are we wizards or not?”

Ogano barely had time to open his mouth before Konoha drew his own wand and flicked it. A second later, a long, pale wand extracted itself from an overflowing laundry basket and sailed to Konoha, who caught it and tossed it over his shoulder to Ogano.

“Now. Could you please do something about getting that spike out of Kaori’s hand and making sure she doesn’t bleed out?”

Half an hour later saw the spike gone and Ogano, now wearing jeans and his Healer’s robes, making tea. Konoha had swiped some of the burn cream he could tolerate, tossed his jacket aside, and was going through the room methodically employing every cleaning spell he knew and keeping half an ear on Ogano and Kaori’s conversation. Only half an ear, though, because it was mostly Kaori going on about the motion sickness thing again, and he’d heard quite enough of that already.

“Mm? Crisis Squad?”

Konoha started, and looked over his shoulder to see Ogano frowning over a very crumpled—very familiar—letter. One hand flew to his pocket even though he knew it was a wasted effort. Shit. He'd meant to toss that on a fire somewhere or feed it to the Vipertooth.

“Aki’s having issues with Washio-san,” Kaori explained, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “They’re trying out new tactics.”

“Oh,” Ogano said. “This… is yours, sorry.”

“Eh, you can read it.” Konoha shrugged and turned back to the textbooks. “If he’s gonna ream me might as well let him go the whole way. Can you bring my tea over here?”

He heard rustling and deliberate footsteps, and the hoarse _swoosh_ of pouring water, and then Ogano clearing his throat.

 _“Konoha Akinori. My…_ oh, it’s just a paragraph of greetings and boring stuff, okay, er… _come to my attention that you and Bokuto Koutarou have been recommencing unsafe and illegal practices in regards to the dragons. Within the past four weeks you have received similar…_ riding…” His voice tailed off. “Wait. Is _that_ where Bokuto got that weird burn from?”

“Yep,” Konoha muttered, swiping his wand to get the dust off the tomes rather more violently than necessary.

“Riding dragons?” Ogano didn’t sound alarmed, at least. Konoha supposed that Healers couldn’t really get too alarmed, and the ones at the reservation were generally a laid-back lot anyway. “What’s so wrong with riding dragons?”

“Nothing,” Konoha said. A shadow appeared over the books, and Kaori knelt down next to him, teacup in her good hand.

“Do you have much to do with the Crisis Squad, Ogano?” she said.

“Not a lot, no. Not very injury-prone, that lot.”

Kaori hummed low in her throat. “Washio-san’s only been here a couple of months, you know that, I presume.” At a noise of assent, she continued. “He’s got ideas about how to decrease all the potential risks around here, and he’s impatient. Well. Yes, he’s impatient. And he’s also appalled that Aki and Bokuto have been getting away with doing something as reckless and dangerous as riding dragons—”

“He _must_ know by now that it’s research,” Konoha said darkly, clenching his hands around the cup. “Someone must’ve told— _I’ve_ told him, Bokuto’s told him, and he still won’t _listen.”_

“He’s only being annoying about it at the moment,” Kaori said, eyes narrowed, “but if we can’t get him off their case soon we think he’ll go to one of the higher-ups about it. They understand the reasoning behind Aki and Bokuto’s research but they’ve always been a bit uncertain about the practical aspect of it, and if Washio-san gets them—”

Kaori was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door.

“Ogano-san? Delivery from potions.”

“No!”

Something rustled from the other side of the door, and there were several thumps. Then the voice came again, more hesitant. “The one for, uh, Sarukui Yamato-san?”

“Ahhh. Hold on,” Ogano muttered, before raising his voice towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, you won’t die while you wait!”

It seemed that the visitor would indeed have to wait, for the rusty lock mechanism took several seconds to crank into action, and got stuck halfway through. Rolling his eyes, Konoha turned back to the textbooks, while Kaori slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. Ogano huffed and puffed as bolt after bolt of magic zipped through the air and the door made a lot of loud bangs, but eventually something gave, the lock undid itself completely, and the door slid open. Konoha didn’t look up until the newcomer started talking to Ogano.

When he did look, however, it was to the very welcome sight of a good-looking guy carrying a lot of towels and a very large stoppered flask of a smoky-looking potion. And then the less welcome sight of Ogano looming over the guy so much that he was he was bent almost horizontally backwards.

“And Fishlips didn’t corner you? Didn’t plant anything on you?”

“Er—”

“No fireworks? No sweets that’ll make me throw up unexpectedly?”

“N-no—”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Geh… yes?”

Eyes narrowed, Ogano paused for a moment.

And then he took the flask and gave the towel guy a friendly punch on the arm.

“Good work, Kodama-kun. I’ll make a decent Healer out of you yet.”

“Decent Healer my ass,” Kaori muttered from where she was slumped. “Decent conspiracy theorist if Broccoli’s got anything to do with it.”

* * *

 

Once Bokuto surfaced, whining about the Howler all the while, it was straight back out to the northern dragon island to continue dragon-watching for two hours straight before doing Konoha’s least favourite job: scouting out dragon dung to mark it out for the company who came through to collect it. Once back at the reserve, Bokuto used up most of the hot water in the communal showers while Konoha filed their notes, and then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse, another owl found him, again bearing a letter from the Crisis Squad.

This one, Konoha incinerated on the spot.

Head full of flight pattern analysis and reprimand he would rather forget, Konoha took to a running trail in the late afternoon. His loop took him halfway down the width of the island and back, on a rugged dirt track dampened and darkened by the latest rainfall, and shadowed by silent trees instead of windswept mountains, Konoha was able to let his thoughts go.

He could go fast for short bursts easily and had decent stamina from years on his feet tramping about dragon territories, but lately he’d been working on getting faster over longer distances. He couldn’t get out running as often as he’d like, though, and by the time he got to the end of his track he was getting out of breath. Leaning over and bracing his hands on his knees as he heaved in breaths through tight lungs, he ruminated that this was yet another thing he’d have to make time for. Sure, he liked having a senior position and plenty to do, but _Merlin,_ it was all just a bit much sometimes.

His fringe had come out of his ponytail in the last kilometre or so, sticking to his forehead, and he pulled his hairtie out before redoing the whole thing. His hair was damp with cooling sweat, and his face felt gross and burning under his hand. Konoha grimaced.

The whole way along his running trail, he’d encountered no one, and when he got back to near the training grounds, there were surprisingly few people milling around. From inside the training compound he could hear the grunts and electric swishes of duelling, and settling himself by the wall bordering the compound, he set about stretching.

For a while, he let himself go into autopilot, focusing only on the gentle pull and burn of his muscles and on timing his stretches. However, it didn’t take long for his calm to turn to curiosity, because the duelling sounds were getting louder, and were close enough now for Konoha to hear the accompanying taunts and yells of elation.

And then with a bang and a lot of bright blue smoke, the doors flung themselves open and a figure flew out, landed with a thump on the ground—

“SORRY!”

—and the doors clanged shut again behind them.

Konoha blinked. The figure was still on the ground, and the smoke hung around them in a lazy haze. Belatedly, he pushed himself upright and tugged out his wand where it was strapped to his thigh, before flicking it at the smoke. Most of the haze vanished instantly, but the air was still bright blue, and it was a few seconds before Konoha could recall a decent counter-spell for it.

The air cleared, Konoha could finally see the unfortunate victim of whatever madness had been going on in the training compound, and he couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“It’s always you, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” Akaashi said with a sigh and a wry smile, shifting to sitting and slouching over his raised knees. “I don’t think it was intentional this time.”

“Who was it, anyway?” Konoha asked. “Bokuto?”

“Yeah, and Komi-san. They’ve been duelling all over the compound for an hour now—”

“Yikes.”

“Precisely.”

Konoha could picture the scene quite clearly in his mind (having partaken in it many times over himself)—Komi ducking and diving past every obstacle in his way, shimmying up walls whenever he got ahead for a better vantage point; Bokuto fast and powerful, eyes sparking, and casting out spells with reckless abandon and ferocity. Those two were a whirlwind unto themselves, a storm electric with magic and so strong it could topple mountains.

They also had a tendency to forget that other people existed when they started duelling in earnest, and in their time had received more than a few reprimands for catching people in the crossfire. _The pair of them are more troublesome than a whole nest of dragons_ , Sarukui had said once, and Konoha reckoned he was right.

“What’d they hit you with, anyway?”

“Don’t know, don’t want to know,” Akaashi said, pushing himself to his feet at last. Once upright, he dusted down his robes and cloak; and a moment later, started patting them down, frowning at the ground.

“Wand?”

“Yes—ah, thank you.”

“All good, all good,” Konoha said, holstering his own wand again and resuming his stretching. “Whatcha up to? Drilling? Top secret Crisis Squad stuff?”

“Training a new recruit, actually,” Akaashi said. “I don’t know if you know him, Onaga Wataru? Very tall, short hair and a lot of stubble?”

“Possibly,” Konoha said, deciding not to add that he had no idea about who Akaashi was talking about. “ _You’re_ stuck with him?”

Akaashi narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. “He’s not that bad, and he learns fast, but he’s green and doesn’t have much experience in dealing with… well—”

“Dragons.”

“Yes. And magical conflict in general. I’ve been getting him to practice duelling, but it’s hard finding opponents. Actually, I was just heading out to see if I could find anyone in the main buildings, but seeing as you’re around…” He tailed off, and tilted his head to the side. Konoha shrugged.

“Sure, I’ll take a crack at it. I’m your first victim?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Akaashi said drily, and Konoha grinned. “Sarukui-san’s been helping me out but he looks very...” Akaashi bit his lip, and Konoha noticed that he was toying with the end of his sleeve, already threadbare. “Very worn out. I’d like to keep Onaga drilling for a while longer if I can, and if you could help...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Konoha said, pushing himself upright and shaking out his legs and shoulders. “Whereabouts?”

“I’ve got one of the smaller courtyards in the back. Sarukui-san said he didn't need too much space, and we put up wards against Bokuto-san and Komi-san—”

“Akaashi? Did Saru _say_ why he was in the training grounds? I thought he'd still be working at this time of day.”

Akaashi faltered, and the faintest of frowns creased his forehead. “I... no, I don't _think_ he said anything. I… I didn’t exactly ask.”

 _And this is why politeness will get you nowhere,_ Konoha thought as Akaashi pushed open the gates and they stepped inside.

Konoha hadn’t been in the training grounds for a while—he’d rarely had the time or energy since taking on a research project and new dragon in addition to his usual duties, and since Washio had the Crisis Squad drilling there for long periods and often, it had become a place to avoid. This was unfortunate, because it was one of Konoha’s favourite places on the living island, both as a place to practise magic and in its looks. Built on and around the ruins of the island’s ancient castle, there were huge and rugged stone courtyards, several grassy fields, and many smaller, half-walled rooms spread over the complex. Jogging into the grounds, Akaashi led the way to one of the smaller open courtyards, where two people were standing waiting.

 “Finally dragged yourself away from your dragons, huh?”

“Lay off, Saru,” Konoha said, smirking towards Sarukui’s grin. Something felt off about it, though. Sarukui’s tone was light, easy, and yet cultivated. _Too_ cultivated. Reflexively, Konoha glanced towards the fading sun. “What are _you_ doing here? Thought it’s your time of the month.”

Sarukui shrugged, eyes dancing. “That’s _why_ I’ve got the afternoon off, dude. I’m on a new team, remember? And they may or may not think it’s worse than it actually is.”

Konoha snickered despite himself. “You sly dog.”

“That was terrible, Konoha.”

Konoha finally turned to greet the tallest of their party, who looked bewildered, and oddly enough, apprehensive. “Onaga, isn’t it? I’m Konoha, senior dragonologist, don’t think we’ve met.”

“Er.” Onaga cleared his throat, and one hand moved up to the back of his neck and started to rub there. “No, we… haven’t. It’s—it’s, uh, good to meet you, Konoha-san.”

“Likewise,” Konoha said, and turned to Akaashi. “So, we’re duelling?”

Akaashi inclined his head. “That’s kind of the idea.”

“Anything goes?”

“As long as it’s reversible and you keep all his hair on. Oh, and don’t incinerate his clothes.”

Konoha considered for a second, nodded, then turned on his heel and strode towards the far starting point. Once there, he thumbed his wand for a few seconds, eyeing up Onaga. His knees were locked and his stance stiff, but his grip on his wand was comfortable. Good at spellwork, bad on foot—or maybe that was just weird self-conscious nerves—and lots of bulk, but that didn’t count for much if someone hit you with a Killing Curse. Konoha wondered if he’d ever played Quidditch.

And assessment done, he flicked his wand and Onaga stumbled out of the way of the light bolting towards him.

“Gotta keep on your toes, Onaga-kun!” Sarukui called from the sidelines. Onaga turned his head towards him—rookie mistake—and Konoha took the opportunity to Disarm him.

“Onaga!” Akaashi said sharply. “Focus on your opponent!” Something in the tiredness of the command told Konoha that he’d said this many, many times before.

It became apparent within a minute that Onaga wasn’t used to having an entirely non-verbal opponent. Some spells he seemed to recognise the wand movements for and deflected easily, but others (namely the many spells which required nothing more than a swish or a jab or no movement at all of the wand) he had to dodge, over and over and over again. Konoha kept him moving, circling and chasing him around the courtyard. Onaga barely coloured or broke a sweat—though Konoha himself was starting to feel the effects of a five-kilometre run with only average stamina—and the more Konoha got him moving, the looser and easier his movements became. His bulk was not without grace and control, and as he whirled and slashed his wand through the air, Konoha started paying particular attention to his upper body and arms. Something about the build, the stance, and the very precise way he positioned his curses…

He grinned, and sent out a full Body-Bind curse to finish the bout.

From the sidelines, Sarukui started clapping, and Akaashi rolled his eyes and huffed out a sigh, though a faint smile played on his lips. A grunt came from the ground, and Konoha flicked his wand to release Onaga from his bonds. Onaga pushed himself to sitting with very pink cheeks, and Konoha walked towards him and extended an arm down to him.

“You’ve played Beater, haven’t you?”

“I—yeah, I did,” Onaga said, clasping Konoha’s forearm and letting himself be pulled up. His grip was pleasantly solid, and Konoha was pleased to see how relaxed he stayed when released. “All through school and a—a social league… How’d you know?”

Konoha smirked. “That build, for one. Nice arms, nice and muscly. You’ve got control, too, and you harness your power well—well, when you can get a shot in.”

Onaga looked abashed, and Konoha clapped him on the shoulder. “Oi, cheer up. Your spellwork’s pretty good, you’ve got a good arsenal on offense. Can you do non-verbal spells?”

“Er… mostly.”

“All the time would be good. Gives you the edge when duelling and it makes life easier."

“Right.” Onaga frowned, and then continued in an undertone, “Have they been going easy on me?”

“Pssh. You're new meat, they're not that cruel. I mean. Washio is, I expect—”

“Oh, no.”

“Eh?”

“Washio-san’s very generous with his time. He gives all of us lots of advice, and he’s very good at communicating how we can improve.”

Konoha chose not to respond to that, and instead turned his mind back to duelling. Akaashi had walked over in the time elapsed, and began talking to Onaga in his stead—critiquing his performance, it seemed.

When they reached a lull in their conversation, Konoha cleared his throat, and both of them turned.

“Gonna get us some brooms, and we’ll go for a round in the air.”

Onaga’s eyes lit up, and Akaashi grinned. He looked a bit manic, and Konoha took half a step back. It was very disconcerting.

“What’re those looks for?”

If it were possible, Akaashi’s grin got even scarier. “Onaga's a very good flier, and he duels well in the air. You might not have such an easy time of it, Konoha-san.”

“Oh yeah?” Konoha smirked and folded his arms across his chest. “Tell you what. Me versus you two and if I win you both buy me drinks next time we go out.”

“And if we win?” Akaashi said dryly.

“Let me think about that while I’m getting the brooms, shouldn’t take too long.”

“I’ll help him think of something good, don’t worry, Akaashi-kun.”

Sarukui had come over almost out of nowhere, and was doing up the fastenings on his cloak. Konoha raised an eyebrow at him. “You will?”

“I need to get back,” Sarukui said lightly. “I’ll help you get out the brooms and then I’ll need to be off.”

Konoha raised his eyebrow at the request, but nodded his assent and, after Sarukui had made his goodbyes, led the way out of the courtyard. They walked in comfortable silence the short distance to the broom shed, and it was only when they arrived and Konoha set about unlocking the door that he realised something was off. So caught up in his need for distraction from his day, Konoha hadn’t really noticed how sunken and dark-ringed Sarukui’s eyes were, nor the grey pallor of his cheeks. And he had barely started fiddling with the lock when Sarukui slumped bodily against the side of the shed and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

He looked defeated. Bowed to something he could not overcome, caught in a battle that would not end until he died. Konoha glanced up to the sky. The orange expanse of the setting sun was streaked with deep grey and the light was fading fast. He closed his eyes briefly and his fingers tightened around the lock.

“You had today’s dose yet?”

Sarukui shook his head. He looked awful, and Konoha wanted to help him back to the apartments, or squeeze his shoulders, or even just to lay a hand on his arm and reassure him. But Sarukui, though he wouldn’t say it, hated being touched in the last few hours before the sky darkened and the moon rose full and deadly over the mountains. And there was almost nothing Konoha could do.

“Go on back,” he said eventually, deep in the darkness of the broom shed. “Take your potion, get comfortable.”

A long, breathy sigh came in response. “Akaashi… Onaga… won’t they think something’s wrong?”

Konoha thumbed the broom in front of him, the smooth, heavy wood reassuring in his hand. “I’ll cover for you. Onaga doesn’t know any better, and Akaashi wouldn’t say anything.” He was quiet a moment. “You’ll be alright.”

A thump. “I think it’s going to be a bad night.” Sarukui sniffed, and Konoha’s gut twisted. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” He leaned his head against the broom and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t do mindless damage to himself or anyone else with a full course of Wolfsbane potion running through his veins. But Sarukui’s mind descended into dark places nonetheless, every single month, and there was nothing—nothing at all—that Konoha could do to help him.

And it hurt him to know how much Sarukui suffered, when with all the wonders of modern potion-making and research—and when he was one of the kindest, most reliable and selfless people Konoha knew—he wasn’t supposed to suffer at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, kudos and/or comments are very much appreciated!


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